


Sea Change II

by roseveare



Series: Sea Change [2]
Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseveare/pseuds/roseveare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nathan Wuornos agrees to spend the night with Duke Crocker, obviously heralding the End Times, or at least guaranteeing that crooks take over the <i>Cape Rouge</i> in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Nathan Wuornos agrees to spend the night with Duke Crocker.

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Sea Change. Set after 2.2: _Fear & Loathing_. What it has of a plot is hiding out in Part 2.  
> THANKS: To Kattahj and Cryptolect for beta!

Nathan puts up on the station board the three photos that just came through on the fax, and curses internally when he finds blood on his fingers upon retrieving one of the pins stashed in his mouth. He hears his father's voice grumble, "Godarmit, you'll swallow one, one day, and then where will you be?" But the Chief isn't there, so he pins the last picture and walks back to his office, which says _Chief Wuornos_ on the door, licking the taste of blood from his lip and wiping his fingers off on his pants.

Parker's perched on the edge of his desk next to two coffee cups, talking on her cellphone. The conversation appears to be to Audrey II and, mostly, about a hair appointment. It's not like him to berate her for doing that on work time but he kind of wants to, even if it's not like her to do that on work time and this is almost unprecedented. She has a girl friend. This being Haven, and Parker, it's a weird girl friend. She also has almost zero time that is not work time, so in practice, Nathan manages to keep his mouth shut and grabs his coffee, sniffing for the one without a heap of sugar. "Ah!" Parker breaks off from her conversation and her hand rises in warning, but he drinks anyway and shrugs at her. If he burnt his mouth, he can't tell, and he needs the caffeine too much to care.

Funny dreams might be bothering him a while yet. What with the Chief's death, and being Chief, being able to feel again for that short time and, well, giving it _away_. That's screwing with him more than he thought it would. The fact it was his own choice makes it worse. That, and he had it all back and didn't really get to do anything. Spent the whole time working, instead, and of course Audrey didn't question it but he knows Duke found it rightly hilarious. Now, he feels nothing in the nerves that were alive yesterday as his fingertips rasp against the surface of his desk. Missed opportunities paraded his dreams last night. He knows he'll get the chance again... the Troubles, they come and they go, always have before. But at the moment, his affliction remains an indefinite sentence. How long does he have to put his life on hold, before he can return to being a part of the world?

Parker scoots off his desk and takes her conversation to the window, gesturing to him with an apologetic lift of her hand, and Nathan hears her trying to wind things to a close. He sits and burrows his head as he hunches over paperwork, trying to surreptitiously block his ears from Parker and Parker's talk as he scours the information that came with the pictures from Bangor.

Instead of police work, something he hasn't thought of in weeks snaps to the forefront of his brain. Something Duke, of all people, said months ago. For a couple of weeks it had been hard to get it out of his thoughts, but then there'd been Jess, then there'd been discovering he could feel Audrey Parker, which had screwed with him ever so much more. But Jess had gone and Parker had a hundred other things going on. Nathan wasn't going to impose himself upon her just because of the incidental fact that he could feel her and no-one else. Wasn't fair. He'd been very firm with himself over that point.

Yesterday, it had almost not mattered. Then he'd given it away, and God, it was the right thing to do, but he was an idiot, and he wasn't going to stop railing at himself in the privacy of his own head for doing that stupid, moronic, noble thing anytime soon.

Duke. Back that time he almost drowned, Duke had kissed him and offered him... something. He's not entirely sure what, doesn't think Duke was entirely sure what, but he has a standing offer from Duke Crocker for some kind of relationship, or... experimentation, or... thing.

Goddamn it. Duke was there and saw, and he thinks Nathan's an idiot, too. But at least that also means Duke knows the whole story, and Nathan doesn't have any other offers he'd take up. He's honest enough with himself to recognise there are other options out there, but he's nowhere near that desperate and this one, well, it was never at the bottom of the pile.

He takes out his phone even as Parker puts hers away, looks at it a moment, and decides he's not doing this over the phone. He rises from his desk. "Heading out," he says to Parker, grabbing for his jacket. "Errand to run."

"Oh?" she looks interested.

"Something to talk to Duke about," he fills in. It'll look more suspicious not to tell her that much.

Her eyes light up with her smile. "It's great that you're both getting along better. I'd best finish these reports now. Tell him I said hi."

"I'll do that." If she knew what he's heading over there to talk about, she'd spit that pen she's chewing across the room. There's a lot of funny things go on in Haven, but Nathan thinks probably few of even those compare with the Police Chief showing up on the deck of a career criminal to request that he fuck him.

When Duke's not on his boat, it's almost a relief. Nathan's doubts multiplied on the way over. Of course, Duke has the _Gull_ now, and his wife is in town. Maybe he's with her. Yeah, and Nathan doesn't feel at all disappointed as he reminds himself Duke Crocker is a married man. Holy crap. What's more, the bastard never even told him. Back when he was kissing Nathan in his truck, and undressed him and no doubt took liberties after he passed out, Duke never mentioned he had a _wife_.

It is totally the kindest escape ever offered by fate that Duke is elsewhere today, thereby negating this temporary loss of sanity.

"...Nathan? To what do I owe the pleasure?" No, Duke is _here_ , hefting a crate in both hands, all rolled-up shirt sleeves and broad smile, looking healthy and energetic as he strides aboard the _Cape Rouge_ , where Nathan's waiting. 

What he hasn't thought about is how he's going to frame this, although _pleasure_ is one hoped-for part of it. Funny how once he's faced with the presence and physicality of Duke, all thoughts of fleeing... flee. "Duke." He nods curtly, acknowledging. Warming up.

"Nnnnnathan...." Duke stretches out his name in the repeat, some act of aping him that he no doubt believes to be funny. "Have you been caught up in someone's bad karma again, because I gotta tell you, I'm not in the mood for the crazy thing or the truth thing or whatever weirdness thing we're up to today. Today's a good day."

"I'm not under any influence." He wishes they lived somewhere he wouldn't have to have conversations like this quite so often. "I..." _Came to ask a favour_ sounds wrong, because he's fairly sure Duke will be getting more enjoyment of it, plus he thinks it would make him come off kind of needy. He takes a deep breath. "I wanted to talk about something you said a while ago. If it still stands. I mean... Evi, you and Evi. It might not be... open anymore." Has he, indeed, missed that ship? 

"What does Evi have to do with anything?" Duke looks casually confused as he sets down the crate in his hands. 

"Sex, Duke." Nathan winces, because though he meant it to come out blunt, he didn't intend it quite that loud. All kinds of panic cross Duke's face, and he looks around, then scrambles down on a level with Nathan, grabs his arm and hustles him below decks of the _Cape Rouge_. "Not right _now_ ," Nathan grumbles, trying to drag his arm back. "I've got to get back to work, to Parker. Just wasn't up to doing this over the _phone_ \--"

"What? _No_ , not right now!" Duke all but howls. "How are you even _here_ , and talking about this? Is this about yesterday? Damn, I knew that was going to sting later. I am not taking advantage of you while you're still down from that, Nate, buddy. Go home... I mean, go to work. Go to Audrey. Fight crime. Do... whatever you do. Forget about it."

He leaves Nathan at the door of the galley, goes to the cupboard and takes out a bottle, which he swigs. "God. Nathan Wuornos comes to me asking for sex. What kind of morning is that?" He grins half-heartedly.

Nathan scowls, unamused. "But that time, you--" This is just proof that Duke was screwing with him. Should he be surprised? No: not when Duke is involved and all he's done is make an ass of himself, again. "You know what? Forget it. I misunderstood."

He's ready to turn around and go, keeping what's left of his dignity, but he also saw the change in Duke when he spoke, the abrupt, frozen realisation and regret. 

"No..." Squinting at Nathan long and hard, Duke slowly puts down the bottle. "No, you're serious." He sighs. "But this is still about yesterday, and I would be a bad friend if I let you do this. Give it a week. If you still feel like going there..." Pain in his eyes as he says it.

" _Duke_ ," Nathan states flatly. "I'm here now because I won't have the drive to do this in a week. _Now_ , while yesterday is still... before it all goes flat again. You don't know what it's like, and I..."

"...You want to feel something," Duke finishes, his voice low. He shakes his head, and almost reluctantly, turns it into a nod. "Alright. I'll... I guess it's a date."

"Evi?" Nathan prompts.

Duke flicks a hand, looking fleetingly annoyed. "She's in a hotel somewhere. Probably... tourist central, and mocking every cutesy minute of it. Look, I didn't even ask. We're separated. Three years. I have no plans. She may have plans. I'm a free agent. Still."

"I know it's... maybe a lot to ask, but back then, that day... you didn't even seem to act like... like it would be a _problem_." Nathan's doubts are returning. What if he does this and... can't do this? Not only will he get nothing out of it, but Duke will have a first-hand demonstration of just how broken he is, and if there's anyone he doesn't want to be that stripped-bare before... He obviously hasn't thought this through. 

He waits for his mouth to start working, to take the request back, but somehow, he doesn't, and his uncertainties are left to hang in the air until Duke addresses them.

"Nathan, all I... what I _think_ I was thinking, and bearing in mind this was a while ago, now... I'm a guy, unlike you, with an imagination. I think I have ways. And no, you do not get all my secrets for free. You will have to show up to learn my ways."

Hearing that Duke has climbed fully on board, for some reason that only makes Nathan want to back off more. "You think you have a way around _not being able to feel anything_?" he asks flatly. Really. _Really_? How is this not Duke blowing so much air around?

Duke nods, though, smiling beatifically -- only a little bit of a crumpled edge to it. "Last I heard, you have four other senses that work better than most."

 _Hell, yes_. The thing is... as Nathan stands undecided, with it all out there already, he feels a shiver down his spine that's entirely imaginary. Duke is confident, clearly good at this, and clearly has... experience. Nathan doesn't have those things, but he has this offer. It would be impossible for him to explain, even if he would, the isolation of having had to write himself off as a sexual being, and the frustrating obliviousness of everyone else, with their easy assumption that sex is _possible_ if they want it. For himself, Nathan's been waiting for a cosmic-level shift, for the Troubles to disappear and make him whole again. As to what he can do without -- he and Jess only got to scratching the surface of it, and she's the only one so far who was inclined to try once they realised just what they'd have to contend with. Except Duke. For whatever reason, Duke wants to.

"But we're not just talking -- just you doing me and then claiming that was the total plan," Nathan establishes, with a trace of anger. "Because that might work with any guy, maybe. It's not a question of -- of _performing_. I need to be sure this isn't just you trying to screw me over in a wholly new and different way." 

"Oh, it _will_ be new and different," Duke says, smiling. "I promise you that." He eyes the clock on the wall. "How does eight o'clock work for your Bold and Unprecedented Leaps of Sexual Experimentation schedule?"

Nathan gives the barest hint of a nod, then turns.

He heads back to Parker. 

He can't quite believe what he's just done.

***

Duke can't really believe that just happened. He keeps staring at the space where Nathan Wuornos stood in his doorway, thinking, this is a Trouble where you hallucinate that the people you've lusted after forever have come to fling themselves upon you, until, inevitably, it tries to kill you in some hitherto unthought-of and horrifying way.

He rings Parker and asks her something to that effect, and when she says no brushes it off hastily as to do with some odd behaviour from his estranged wife. Then he asks casually, oh and by the way how is Nathan? That throws him in it, because Parker goes quiet and says slowly, "He was coming to see you." Duke handwaves like crazy and spouts a bullshit theory that Nate probably saw Evi and him getting into it on the boat and figured it would wait for another time.

That, of course, means he has to ring Nathan and explain that he's put his foot in it, and why. He can, he'd swear, actually hear the stony expression on Detective Wuornos' face as he says, "I told you, I'm not under any weird influence, and I'm _sure_ about the thing. Getting less and less, though."

They talk each other around again, and when they're both sure he's got his story straight for Parker, he rings off. This leaves Duke to smack his head into a cupboard door several times and take another large swallow of the Caribbean rum in the bottle he had to open because _Nathan Wuornos_ came stomping on board his boat _demanding sex_.

"This is strange even for Haven," he addresses the bottle, candidly. "Then again, maybe it's just strange enough to be true." Nathan's pretty weird, after all, and that's not even mainly down to his Trouble and implacable-man routine. Who could expect him to act like a normal human being?

It puts Duke in a bit of a quandary, though, because now he has the whole day before him, and he was going to be doing... not much, he admits, in comparison with what's fallen into his lap now. But somehow, between now and eight o'clock, he has to manage not to go crazy while preparing an evening that will convince Nathan he's not talking out of his ass. That's not going to be anywhere near as straightforward as his one aborted effort to date Parker, which she blew off anyway.

It's a thought that gives Duke pause. Nathan, contrary to all expectation, isn't quite so bad as Parker in that he actually has a life, or sort of one, or at least a handful of weird hobbies, some of which are even vaguely sociable, though that may be an overly kind description of golf. There isn't quite so high a chance that this date will get blown off, but it has to be up there. Nathan does, after all, spend much of his time _with_ Parker.

Duke twists through various convolutions of whether this possibility offers a potential save or crushing disappointment and can't decide.

It isn't even as though he's that much into guys. There've been a handful of times, but almost all of them involved girls being involved, too. There was this one time Evi really fancied a guy called _Kone_ , who looked like a model-slash-bodybuilder, although if Duke remembers right he was an accountant, and Duke definitely remembers the guy's body, all shiny black skin and honed muscle against him, and... actually, never mind that story. Coming on to Nathan all those weeks back sort of came out of nowhere, but at the same time made a lot of sense, because he hadn't had those experiences back when he was in Haven before, in his teens, but he was always kind of obsessed with getting Nathan's attention in whatever way he could. There are, he suspects, a lot of _Here Be Dragons_ in the territory of those thoughts.

He takes a rather larger swig of the rum, then looks at it and, very deliberately, puts it aside. "Sorry, buddy. You're a better listener than most, but I can't afford to get drunk. Nathan Wuornos wants to have sex. With me. Which probably means the world's about to end in some horrible way, but just on the off-chance, I... need to go cook."

The first thing he does is head to the _Gull_ to rifle the cream of the ingredients for tonight's menu, as well as the best of the wine, which he has to pick _carefully_ , because he wants a variety of flavours yet does not want anyone citing abundance of alcohol as an excuse for this, or anything that comes out of this. No-one is getting drunk tonight. Slightly hazy around the edges is acceptable.

As he's leaving the _Gull_ loaded up with his prizes, he spies Evi watching him over a coffee from a discrete corner, clunks everything he's carrying down on the nearest table and wearily stomps across to deal out damage-control.

"Entertaining tonight?" she asks. "Who's the lucky girl? Officer Parker?"

"No... No, the lucky girl is not Officer Parker. You _will_ stay away from my boat tonight, Evi. This one, I've been working on a while, and... it's important."

"Wow. That sounds actually close to sincere. Does she also know your wife is in town?" She sees the answer in his face. " _Naughty_ girl. And naughty _you_ , for that matter." She smacks his face lightly, grinning. 

"I'm serious, Evi. Come on, I let you have... Kone... and if you don't still owe me for that one there is _no_ justice in the world..."

She laughs at him, then stops. "Wait. I haven't even thought of that in years. Oh, _my_. That perfect body, and the way he took to _you_... It's a man." She zeroes in on the target with deadly precision. Her smile widens into a toothy carnivore grin. It softens when she knows she's right.

" _If_ you could keep the volume down on that. Small towns. Gossip."

She reaches for his collar and yanks his head down so his ear is next to her lips, where she sing-songs, " _You're screwing the Police Chief~_ "

Duke splutters. "He's not -- his _dad_ was--" Shit. This aspect of the situation had not actually occurred to him before now, and _hell_ , Evi had to hit it dead on the nose again. He bends in closer. "He's only the interim Chief. He has enough enemies in this town that chances are it won't last. Could you _try_ not to make it any shorter?" And so will he, he thinks fervently.

"Okay. Better cash in quick." She tidies his collar and lets it go. Her eyes are full of a respect that makes him feel faintly ill. "You're good," she says. "I'd almost forgotten that."

She makes him feel like scum, which is coincidentally what Nathan will think if any scrap of this conversation ever manages to get back to him. But if Evi thinks it's about running a scam or scoring points to cash in later, at least she won't screw with tonight, because a Police Chief in his pocket is just as potentially useful to her. So he waves her off and shakes his head to clear it, grabs up his stuff and blows the joint, which even if it is his own joint is starting to feel a bit claustrophobic to him.

None of this so far is going well. It's one of those things -- when he thought about it before, not that he thought about it that much, but... in his head, it was always going to be great. There were no complications, no Police Chief, no damn wife. He was going to introduce Nathan to a whole new level of feeling, convince him once and for all that _Duke Crocker is not the bad guy_ , and it was going to be _great_. 

_Screw fantasies_ , he decides. This is the moment where he acknowledges that reality will get in the way, because it always does. He needs to keep this real, and the first thing to lose is the idea that Nathan will ever trust him, that surrendering his body into Duke's hands might imply anything special. For fuck's sake, the man can't _feel_ anything. He might as well have asked Duke to give him a haircut.

It isn't true, but the buzz of frustrated energy lasts until Duke's back aboard the _Cape Rouge_.

He drags out the rest of the stuff he wants to work with and surveys it, and scrubs his hands through his hair in despair.

Now he's on the spot, he wonders if this was the dumbest idea he ever had. He was being easy and confident and probably kind of a dick about it to Nathan, earlier, but _Nathan can't feel_. That's a hell of an obstacle to overcome. What if he can't?

Duke thinks he knows, because he's made a lifetime of watching Nathan, and the ways Nathan achieves contact with the world. There's the way he savours each bite of food, rolling it slowly around the whole of his mouth; the quiet delight that can sometimes cross his face as he inhales the air and lifts his face up to explore a scent, or how he'll pass a coffee or a beer below his nose when he isn't drinking from the cup; the way he watches the clouds or trees or, hell, the damn pavement, like there are incredible worlds lurking in the detail. Or how, sometimes, he just stops, right where he is, and listens. 

Pleasure, though, doesn't necessarily transfer into _'pleasure'._

If he's wrong, Duke thinks grimly, then he'll look like a dick and he'll probably deserve it, for thinking he can call Nathan's problems better than the guy who's lived with them a chunk of his life.

But then, it seems to him no-one else so far has ever _tried_. He doesn't, obviously, know every detail of the Jess Minion fling, but he does know that relationship wasn't allowed to get very far before the poor woman fled town. Which means it is _way past time_ that somebody fucking tried. If he has to be the one who tries and fails, just to prove it maybe wasn't ever possible after all, then at least he'll have that much going for him. 

He scowls, resolve reclaimed, and glares around at the boxes and junk he's about to give their marching orders.

He has work to do.

***

" _Parker_ ," Nathan thinks of saying, a hundred times that afternoon, " _I may have temporarily gone insane and propositioned Duke. We have a date this evening_." The thing is, the likeliest option his imagination offers up as her response is a delighted hug and "You go for it!" He lacks courage enough to try proving this untrue.

Instead, the day goes by in a surreal haze, and if she notices him being strange, or quieter than usual, she probably writes it down to the highs and lows of yesterday. It isn't even dishonest to let her think that.

It's a quiet day, mostly, the kind a new or temporary Chief needs a few of to get the rhythm of things, but he can't take best advantage of it. He does some paperwork -- his paperwork has multiplied a hundredfold with the damn promotion -- then Parker drags him out after lunch and they check the docks over for the three fugitives in the bulletins from Bangor. Beattie gives them a heads-up on a sighting of what sounds like August Capresi's boat, which might earn them a few points regionally. He can hope. 

He doesn't see Duke around. Capresi is very dangerous -- once merely a thief, now wanted for multiple murders, his greed sabotaged by his temper after he executed five men over a job gone sour -- so Nathan tries hard to keep his mind on his work.

He already explored his hope that if he took over dad's job he'd get Haven that SWAT team, and has been forced to conclude that it isn't happening on this budget. He told Parker, who laughed at him. He still considers it decidedly unfair for that sort of action to get left to a former FBI agent who now might not even have been through FBI training and a guy who needs to do special exercises just to maintain the fine motor control that lets his unfeeling hands use his gun. 

The day crawls its way through. Parker suggests using the evening to talk through case notes, forcing him to admit he has plans with Duke. "Ah. Man-plans. I guess this is the drawback to getting my two best friends on good terms with each other." She gives a squashed smile and nods to herself broodingly. She throws a few comments his way about drinking beer and watching baseball being the masculine equivalent of ice-cream and makeovers. It occurs to him belatedly that her evening of case notes might have been her way of offering comfort and companionship.

If he backs out now, Duke will forever know that he backed out. Nathan realises he's effectively trapped himself.

He makes his peace with Parker, after a fashion, by giving her a bunch of stuff to tackle on Capresi and his buddies, which is like candy for her, and he will never understand that. Now that he's technically her boss, although he can't imagine actually giving her an order if it happens to be something she doesn't want to do anyway, he feels uncomfortably like her dealer doing that sort of thing. _Stop working_ , he wants to tell her. _You're making me look bad._

As the end of the day nears, Nathan makes a very slow stride down to the marina, steps dragging fatefully to the place the _Cape Rouge_ is moored, feeling for all the world like he could be heading into his last gunfight.

He's a bit early, but Duke's out in the open air waiting for him. As he spies Nathan, he stands up almost comically fast and takes a gulp from the wine glass on the table next to him, movements stiffer than usual and less certain. Like he has to make himself do it, he walks forward to greet Nathan. Nathan climbs slowly aboard, feeling the point of no return as his feet touch down on the deck. He slides his eyes around. They tend not to want to stick on Duke. "Well, I'm--"

Duke grabs and kisses him, pulling him in with both hands and not giving him much choice in the matter. Nathan has to stifle his initial impulse to at least try to protest and pull away, remember that _this was the point_ , that he sought this out himself. But he can't feel it. Yesterday, he would have, another crushing reminder that he does everything too late. Today, he can't get any pleasure from his own body, that's something which can only be there for the other person to _take_ \-- 

On that thought, he almost does pull away. Then other information starts to flow in from his senses; how great Duke smells, and _tastes_ \-- the intensity of flavour on his tongue has been sitting far too many years in someone's cellar to be opened lightly. It's almost involuntary when Nathan dares to chase the taste deeper, and when they finally move to part, bends Duke's head down into his shoulder and presses his nose to into the mop of black hair. "God. What _is_ that?"

Duke just chuckles, and Nathan barely notices the buttons being unpicked on his shirt. No-one really needs to do that with Duke, who's always already half-dressed. Who pats Nathan's shoulders, then shakes him, briskly, unfelt. "Could you at least _try_ to be a little less stiff? Otherwise none of this is going to go much of anywhere."

Nathan blinks back. He's... trying.

Duke sees it, shakes his head, and smacks himself. "Sorry. Sorry, it's been a strange afternoon. Come on inside--"

Nathan looks down at his hand, which Duke has just taken, and although he can't feel that contact, even seeing it is pretty staggering. He's being taken by the hand and led. _What the hell, Duke?_

"I, uh, I thought I'd take the _Cape Rouge_ out just beyond the harbour," Duke shares, uncomfortable for some reason. He has to let go of Nathan's hand for them to negotiate the steps down into the galley. "The forecast is mild and, uh, more privacy out there. Less chance of interruption." 

Nathan supposes that's a pretty good idea, in case Parker decides to turn up and see how they're doing. He nods. Duke puts a glass in his hand and disappears, leaving him to stare around the big open-plan cabin and what Duke's done to it with an amazement that just doesn't where to look first. He doesn't feel the subtler movements of the boat leaving its berth, just when they're strong enough to interfere with his balance. He manages to save the wine bottle, once, and stick the cork back in and wedge it somewhere it won't take a tumble and waste all of that wonder.

Really, he can't figure out whether this moment of quiet before the storm is what he needs or precisely what he doesn't. And there's all this -- this -- _this_ , that he's been left to look at. What's Duke thinking? What was _he_ thinking? How is there any chance this works at all? Him, and Duke... what the hell are they going to talk about? Past mistakes, that's what. A thirty-year parade of wrongs on both sides.

Though he remembers, then, the taste of Duke's mouth over his; before Jess, before he ever discovered he could feel Parker. The first chip at his years of isolation. He finds himself starting to smile as he plays his nose above the rim of his wine glass, though the smile freezes and stops as soon as he registers it.

It takes a reasonable while for Duke to finish his readjustments to the boat, because you can't take chances with the sea. When he comes down, finally, there's a suggestion in the lag of his steps that a little of something else might've been contributing. It's gratifying for Nathan to know he's not the only one.

"Candlelight and soft music?" Nathan asks as Duke's steps slow. "Is that how you think of me?" It doesn't come out like he wanted. He meant to be teasing, but intended it softer. He watches a muted flinch run through the other man's form and thinks he's well on his way to screwing this up already. "It's... sweet," he adds, probably not taking back much ground, especially because, in all fairness, he does also have to admit, "Disturbing."

Duke pokes a finger at him. "Shut up. There is one thing you need to do this evening. Turn it _off_. This mask, this untouchable-man wall of crap. I hate that guy so friggin' much. _I_ know that's not you, _you_ know that's not you. You live in the four senses you have left, so that's how we're going to do this. The rest... turn it off. For now."

Nathan slowly sits down and sets the wine glass on the table, staring at it, trying to regroup and figure out how to respond, how to even think. 

"I hope that blank look is you turning it off," Duke says, a bit anxiously.

Nathan figures out that he doesn't know how to react because according to that theory, everything he does next is wrong. He could probably let Duke in a bit more, he concedes as he ponders. The rest, it doesn't have a switch. 

" _Shit_ ," says Duke, and he looks up for the cause of the brief, explosive expletive. "All of that sounded better in my head."

"It... would have to?" Nathan hazards, cranking an eyebrow.

"I'm a dick," says Duke. Pauses. If he's waiting for disagreement, he'll be a while. "Can we rewind this?"

"How about we not?" The familiar territory they're on now is a hell of a lot easier on Nathan's nerves. He kicks out the chair that's opposite his at the small table. That flick of one foot is a lot more precision judgement of distance, angles and calculation than most would believe, and a minor miracle he doesn't kick it right over.

Duke watches the chair rock a few times, then walks over and sits, snagging the bottle of wine from where Nathan left it. He drinks out of the bottle, weathering Nathan's faint headshake and disapproval. "We shared germs already, remember?" He looks around and smiles and sags back, the bottle askew between his knees. "I have been _killing myself_ over this today."

That is demonstrably true. Firstly, Nathan's seldom seen him so jittery -- for Duke, the man's a nervous wreck. Then, there are the candles in thick glass jars, and the ambient lighting from some kind of amazing lamp of orange and gold shapes that rotates, casting its long shadows and soft glows around the room. The music, which he doesn't recognise, but it's accomplished and pleasant, classical but not intrusive. God damn _scents_. The wine. The food. "It's a shame. All your food will be cold," Nathan says, realising, poking the covered dishes, which aren't steaming. 

"No." Duke shakes his head and starts removing covers. "I may have made the odd miscalculation, but not that one. Everything here is meant to be eaten at room temperature."

Nathan blinks. How the hell did he even think of that? _Nobody_ thinks of that. "That's amazing." It comes out without consult with his brain. He reaches out a picks up a morsel. Seafood and spices, wrapped in crisp leaves. The parcel explodes on his tongue and slides down far too easily, leaving him breathless. 

"Good?" asks Duke, eyes shining. Nathan looks down and sees Duke's hand, on the tabletop, covering his own. There are other offerings on the table, too, little crisp breads topped with pate, some rolled up little balls that smell like they involve cheese. "Want to share?" There's still a hint of doubt in his voice, like Nathan's going to walk away even now. But Duke takes a gulp from the wine bottle anyway, and leans over the table, offering everything, even though, perhaps, he has every reason to believe he'll be refused in the light of past example. Nathan can see that the main course on offer here was always supposed to be each other.

He accepts the wine, letting the taste guide him as his mouth explores its unconventional goblet.

***

If he were Nathan, Duke thinks he'd have gone crazy long ago, not being able to feel things like... say, to choose a wholly random example, _this_. Although he doesn't seem to be letting it stop him at the moment. Duke always theorised that there had to be the worst kind of desperation buried inside Nathan, and even the damn crazy, when he went crazy that time, had a tightness, a rigidness, an odd control. Duke doesn't know that he's wrong, exactly, but there's no wildness or loss of control in what he's seeing, anything like what he was so sure would lurk underneath the surface if the barriers broke. It's gentler than that. Just a man going into his senses; a languid passivity he didn't expect. Nathan Wuornos; stone on the outside, marshmallow on the inside. Actually, _that_ he could have guessed at.

They both quietly reached the conclusion that the chairs are only a waste of time. The table was in the way and they're both too tall and too heavy to be climbing on the furniture. So Duke pins Nathan, standing, against the wall, while exploring the skin of his neck beneath his collar, kind of wondering how he got from completely failing at seduction to this actually working, and how he manages the next step, which is manoeuvring this into the bedroom. Though he got the impression Nathan walked on board expecting to start off there, which is nuts.

Evi he could pick up and carry. He's afraid if he tried that here he'd pull something, though he can feel Nathan's hand gripping tighter in the small of his back and has a weird suspicion that if he leaves it too long, _Nathan_ might try that.

There've been maybe thirty seconds of non-reaction by the time Nathan shakes himself and Duke by extension, pulls apart somewhat, and pats him on the chin to raise his attention. " _Duke_. I'm not getting anything from this."

It's like he's some creature specially designed with the ability to kill any moment. Duke suffers some minor mortification adding up what he was doing against Nathan's problem and comes up, _damn_. After the stress of the afternoon and his crazy planning, he actually fell into it and let his instincts take over. Unfortunately, Nathan not being like every other person in the world and therefore every other person Duke's ever slept with, instinct is not his friend here. That's why he spent so long figuring out the new guidebook, because the usual rules and the usual map don't apply.

Nathan has a faintly stricken look in his eyes like he's thinking this is his fault. "You're doing fine," Duke says. "Let me worry about things like that. Here--" It's as good an opening as any to move this over. He takes Nathan's hand and pulls him along, guiding him like a blind man through the door into the room where Duke sleeps. 

"You--" Nathan chokes. "You have a mirror on the ceiling above your bed? _Really_ , Duke?"

"As of this afternoon, I do," he says, a bit sourly. He had to move the bed to do it, and it was a bitch of a chore. He supposes it does look... strange. He's clustered other mirrors around, too, that he previously had elsewhere, wedging them on surrounding surfaces. "You... need to _see_ what you're doing, right? What we're doing?"

Mostly, Nathan looks surly, disbelieving and a bit intimidated. His eyes track the mirrors nervously, watching their movements get echoed six times. Okay, so maybe the mirrors are a step too far. The lighting is soft but plentiful, because Duke went for the old-fashioned lamps he had about the boat and just festooned them everywhere. It's possible Nathan doesn't want to be reminded of who he's doing this with, Duke supposes, or maybe he doesn't like looking at his own body, but either way he doesn't look happy. 

"I can take the mirrors out. Or we can go back in there," Duke says quickly, hoping like hell he's not scared Nathan into retreat so they have this embarrassment hanging between them _forever_ , or at least until the next time fate finds something worse.

"No." Nathan stops him as he starts to duck past. "I'm... getting used to the idea." He slips a hand around Duke's back. Duke watches him watch himself do it in a wall mirror behind. Thinks that might, in a weird way, be the sexiest thing he's ever seen, until Nathan flicks his tongue nervously over his lower lips and Duke knows _that_ was. He might have a lot of that kind of redefining to do tonight, if this doesn't all go screamingly, horribly wrong.

Nathan's nervousness is preparatory to action. He starts sliding Duke's shirt off his shoulders, eyes distracted by half a dozen echoes of the motion. "This is... too weird..." he shuts his eyes. "Perverse." If he thinks that already, the rest of the night really is in trouble. "...It's working." He lowers his mouth to trail it down Duke's collarbone, mimicking what, a while ago, he'd attempted for Nathan. The end of the bed hits the back of Duke's knees and before he knows it he's sprawling, Nathan climbing after. "I don't even believe you thought up all this crap."

Nathan's voice is shaking. This is what it looks like when the mask crumbles. It's still Nathan, still burdened with a body he can't feel. It's just _this_ Nathan learning how to cut loose, as he never has.

"I've got some, uh, flavoured oil, somewhere," Duke says, reaching for the nightstand and pretending he's just remembered that, casually, because it is kind of embarrassing how obvious this is making how _much_ he's thought about this. "For skin," he quickly adds, realising what that sounds like. "I thought the, uh, the taste might help."

"Forget it." Fingers curl around his wrist, pull it back. "I'd rather--" _I'd rather taste you_ is too much for the Wuornos reserve, and he lets it hang a moment before finishing, in a rasp, "Just this." His breathing is sharp and there's a flush to his skin. Duke sneaks a look down and sees the bulge in the front of Nathan's jeans. Which is -- interesting. Only one of the reasons being confirmation that yes, Nathan can actually _do that_. "You'll need to." Nathan stops, temporarily. "To guide me. Tell me if I'm being too rough. Whatever it is that we actually do." He eyes Duke, waiting.

"Getting rid of the clothes is usually a good start." Duke rolls over and crawls back across the bed, keeping low, nose at the level of that enticing bulge. "Let me help you with that." He tugs the button loose with his teeth, then hooks and drags down the zipper, stopping to tongue at what he can feel through the fabric along the way. Nathan can't feel it, but he can see him, and his face, at least, looks like a man about to explode.

They do inevitably have to pause for the practical aspects of shedding clothes. Mens' shoes are bastards, Duke thinks. Ladies' shoes he can handle, pretty and sexy and not laced and knotted all to hell, usually quitting the foot with no more encouragement than a good, sharp tug. Besides, they're not matched with Nathan's skinny damn jeans that won't come off his legs short of a tug of war. 

Then they're both falling back onto the sheets, naked now, and Duke manages to be on top this time. Not that he's making a competition of that or anything. He grinds their bodies together, and is nearly undone early by the feel of Nathan's cock sliding against his own. He's never done this before with a guy that he _knows_ , he realises. Just party stuff. Fun. Evi's whims and being an open-minded guy, and all that. 

He twists his upper body higher, creating a line of sight so that Nathan can see what's going on. It puts a strain on him that's hard to maintain, but he can manage a few minutes. He wraps his free hand around both their cocks. Nathan moves to match each stroke of Duke's hand. His eyes are wide and there's a glossy sheen over his skin. By all rights, it shouldn't be attractive. There are more than enough mirrors for Duke to know he doesn't look any better. Honestly? He doesn't know how he feels about all the damn mirrors. He's not used to seeing every detail of himself like this and he'd have been just as happy to remove them when Nathan faltered. But, if they help, they stay. 

He doesn't _ever_ remember getting this stressed about sex. But he's had the urge to muss Nathan up for _years_ , before he ever pinned down exactly what it was. When his supporting arm gives out, Duke collapses back on top of Nate. Nathan's body is hard, bony angles, taut muscle and tough skin, entirely different to anyone he's ever had before. Nathan's hair rasps against his hand as he pulls him in for another kiss.

Nathan's hands stray somewhere down in their tangle of erections and knees, but there's too much in the way, it doesn't show up in the mirrors. Duke feels the brush of a hand against him. He experiences the moment when Nate discovers he can use the reaction in his face as a reflection and repeats the action, fingers trailing across once more and then finding the shaft.

Duke's breath catches. "Not too hard," he cautions, a hitch in his speech sending the words all over the place. The clutch softens, but Nathan's thumb finds his tip, stroking at the edge of his foreskin. Nathan's a _monster_. How the hell is he doing that, doubly blind? 

"Does that godawful noise you just made mean it's good?" Nathan asks wryly. His voice has gone lower than usual, coming from somewhere in his belly. He seems to have settled someplace deep, where everything's levelled out, and it's obvious he's not nervous anymore, not worried about his ability to perform or any mistakes his condition might cause him to make.

"It means you kill me," says Duke. 

An indeterminate length of time later, he's sliding down that hard, angled body with the intent to take Nathan in his mouth. He thinks that should make a pretty amazing show for the mirrors, for Nathan's hyperactive eyes. Their skin glows warm in the reflections and the lamplight, and funnily, he's ceased to be embarrassed about the mirrors now.

"Duke." Hands catch his hair and stop him at navel-level. Nathan's shoulders roll impressively, compact muscle shifting as he half-rises. "We can do more than that, if you want to." A correction: "I want you to."

And suddenly it's complicated again. Duke had thought about trying to take it that far. Kind of dismissed it because, well, _Nathan_ , and Nathan's masculinity, which is already permanently a bit bruised, and he really didn't fancy testing it the other way, with the guy who can't feel how much force he's applying, when he's only done that the one time before himself. He'd put the thought to one side with a kind of envious, lustful glance. "You want to...?" Maybe he's, you know, talking about something else.

"I want you inside me," Nathan says. It almost causes Duke to come on the spot, just to hear him spit it out that blunt. 

"You've been under a lot of stress lately, Nate," he laughs off gently, uncertain. "Your dad, and Max Hansen, and Audrey's thing... the whole shitstorm of yesterday. Maybe we just fool around today, leave that one for another time?"

Nathan looks faintly cross, and yeah, there's a need to remember who he's dealing with here, even if Nate hasn't been acting too much like the twitchy guy he usually is. "I know what I want. I need..." Nathan trails off, looks away, and falls afoul of the mirrors.

"To feel something?" Duke picks up, again. "You know I could hurt you and neither of us would know it."

"That's true making breakfast." Then, softer, but with a dangerous insistence, "You won't hurt me."

Duke kind of translates that as, _I don't care_ , but he's done making excuses. He wants this and Nathan wants this, and if he examines the teeth of the gift horse any further, he knows full well it'll get pissy at him and bolt, meaning all the work of tonight so far will be undone. If the only way past this one is through it, better at least make the most of it while he has the chance. How righteous can he be expected to be?

He slides his hand lightly over Nathan's thigh, angled in what is one stubborn fuck-me-now demand, and watches small hairs twitch and goose-bumps form where his fingers have been. "Hey. Your skin knows I'm touching you, even if you don't."

A blue eye cast over one shoulder looks, then turns away dismissively, or maybe just wants him to believe it's dismissive. "Doctors have measured that response. It... it's not _feeling_. Just reaction. Some level of nerve involvement that knows there's touch, but it doesn't go anywhere that lets me really feel it... Probably more to do with balance, kinaesthetic sense, they said. Or I'd be screwed, basically."

"Funny you should choose that wording." Duke splays out his hand to cup the cheek of Nathan's ass, and thinks he might have a little more to work with than he'd dared hope. "...Can you reach that pot of oil, huh? It does have its other uses."

It takes long enough to do the preparation that he might dare try and get a few obvious jokes out of it, later, depending on the mood of his favourite tight-ass. Nathan doesn't seem to give a damn, just lies back and stares around at the shifting lamplight and the reflection of their bodies in that glow, wholly relaxed. Duke has to conclude that Nathan surrendered to something, coming here today, and neither of them can guess at how he will feel about it tomorrow. But for now, he takes Duke's unoccupied hand from where it's still resting on his thigh and plays their fingers together. Watching the shadows dance around the walls in the shifting light, Duke melts and can't think about any lurking tomorrows.

Then they're finally ready and he's pushing Nathan's legs wide and crouching between them. His erection bobs against Nathan's softening one. Nathan gives his own slight nod and rolls his hips upwards. Duke thinks he's the one who might not survive this. He leans over and grips the side of Nathan's face and kisses him again, just to make sure, but neatly sidestepping the fatal mistake of actually _asking_ , again, if he's sure.

Then he's inside Nathan, sliding in so smooth, so easy, and maybe he didn't need to fuss so much with the preparation after all. Nathan's eyes fix, amazed, on the spot where their bodies join. Even though he doesn't feel it, and Duke knows he doesn't feel it, he picks up his cues visually, or maybe in some small part from that subconscious awareness of touch, and he manages to move his body with Duke's naturally, the two of them building a decent rhythm.

Duke sees sparks in his vision and the world threatening to scatter into crazy confetti at each tight thrust. There is the odd moment of _ow, stop_ and _not that way_ and general _ohfuckingHELL_ , but as these things go, and the impediment they're working with considered, it goes fucking _great_.

It's not his best performance ever, but then there's kind of a lot going on, and Nathan doesn't have much clue how to do this to make things last. Duke comes like a smack in the head, a sharp, sudden shock, and sags over Nathan, breathing hard, face pressed into the angle of his neck. Nathan puts a goddamned arm around his shoulder to support him and Duke finds those blue eyes looking steadily into his. 

"Aw, _man_." Half drunk on sex, Duke lurches and clumsily pulls out, so he can manoeuvre himself around. He means to use his mouth to finish Nathan off -- hoping like hell he can because wasn't that the _main purpose of this whole exercise?_ \-- but virtually all it takes is the first touch of his grabbing hand and Nathan's there. Duke watches his head roll back slightly and his eyes close, his lips part. One shuddering breath. It's not earth-shattering, clearly. _But..._ it may be subtle, but just as clearly, something got through.

The same breath whistles through his teeth as it comes out, and Nathan's eyes blink wide again. His mouth unravels into a near smile. "I... didn't feel that," he says, in breathless bursts. "But I feel great." He moves, unknotting the angles of his frame and sprawling up to the pillows.

Duke barks a laugh. Just as that body can bruise and bleed and even die without him knowing it, it can do this, too. He marvels at it. Whoever knew that Nathan Wuornos was a working model of a human being? The thought reminds him of all the times he insinuated that wasn't true, and he falls on Nathan with his mouth, apologising wordlessly to every scrap of skin he can reach until Nathan snorts at him and shoves him off for being ridiculous. 

They lie side by side awhile, filling an unusually comfortable silence with small touches, and less daring forays and explorations, and then Duke gets up to check the _Cape Rouge's_ position and snuff out the candles in the galley that he doesn't want to leave burning unattended. When he comes back, Nathan's changed the sheets and is in the bathroom, washing. He rejoins Duke a few minutes later, climbing back into bed with his underwear on and his unfastened shirt loosely hanging over his shoulders. Well, whatever. After where his dick's just been, Duke will grant Nathan his skivvies and his shirt without comment. 

After all, he _does_ climb back into bed.

  


	2. In which, obviously, crooks take over the boat in the morning.

 

The early morning haze of slow awakening is going reasonably well. 'Comfortable' as a concept doesn't exist for Nathan, but there's a satiation humming in his bones on some level, a muted contentedness from last night. His body has been nothing but a machine for completing given tasks for so long that, even if he didn't feel it, the exercise of indulging makes him... real.

He rolls over and is vaguely aware of being impeded by something against his face. He drags open his eyes to the flat black of a gun barrel. The lights are flicked on, and momentarily, he's dazzled. He hears Duke swearing, but with a gun between his eyes, and his reflexes dulled to useless by sleep, Nathan opts not to turn over to see what's happening behind him.

"What the fuck is this?" demands August Capresi, striding around the end of the bed. The thick black moustache and the mat of curly dark hair above blunt features is unmistakeable. He's wearing a large crucifix between the unbuttoned ends of his pale blue shirt. Nathan blinks and squints at the man holding the gun on him, matching face to photograph. Hugh Royston. So whoever's behind him with Duke may well be the third member of the fugitive trio, Vernon Parth. Nathan puts two and two together, sluggishly. They're _here_ , on Duke's boat, which means...

Royston swears as Nathan moves, shoving the gun out of his face. He doesn't care about the criminals right now. Or, correction, he doesn't care about _those three_ criminals. He's still hampered by the sheets as he spins and glares at Duke. "You _know_ these--"

But he's wrong, and for once, plainly, he can see he's wrong. Returning Nathan's gaze, Duke looks utterly lost, and... horrified, even sick. No, he knows nothing about this, that much is certain. He also looks distinctly debauched. Nathan squints at himself in the mirrors still surrounding them, and wishes he hadn't.

He's wrong about the third man, too. It looks like the group have picked up at least one local lowlife since the bulletin from Bangor. Does that mean Parth is still around somewhere? 

A choked-off yell escapes him as Royston grabs his hair and his shoulder and drags him out of bed. Landing doesn't hurt, it just pisses him off. He thinks about his gun, which he took off while he was waiting in the galley for Duke last night. He starts a tally in his head, scowling narrowly at Royston and Capresi. He's not the only one subject to the brusque treatment. They've pulled back the covers on Duke, but unlike him, Duke is stark naked, and comically, that seems to be making them more reluctant to manhandle him.

"Okay, I _said_ \--" Capresi doesn't have much patience, a fact glaringly obvious from his file. Duke may not know who he is, but he seems to know Duke. "What the _fuck_ is this?" He swipes a kick at Nathan, who fields it on his upper arm, indifferently, not that Capresi notices that part. "Your _wife_ said you were out on your boat having a love-in with your ' _bit on the side_ '." He stares at Nathan, and what delight: homophobia. But Nathan cares less about what this asshole thinks of him than about the gun being waved at Duke by a man who's not known for controlling his temper or trigger finger. "But--" Capresi's disgust disappears into a snarl as he gets over it, or at least gets on-subject. "She also said you have my money. Where is it?"

"Evi said...?" Duke scrubs a hand through his hair, shuts his eyes and expels, with a level of fury Nathan's seldom seen in him, " _Fucking bitch_!"

Nathan is starting to wake up, so he runs a few calculations of his chances. With three of them, armed, there seems little he can do right now if he doesn't want to get someone shot. He knows Duke has weapons stashed aboard the _Cape Rouge_ , and maybe there's one nearby, maybe even in reaching distance, but he doesn't know and surreptitious feeling around on his part is pointless. He has no choice but to wait and hope the odds increase.

It's still sometime before five o'clock by the light outside. At some point, once it gets properly light and the harbour comes to life, someone is going to start wondering what Duke's boat is doing out there with Capresi's moored up to it. Of course, Haven P.D. or the harbour authority barging into this situation is not necessarily going to do Nathan any professional favours. 

They do have one thing going for them before it comes to that. His gun is still in the galley if he can get to it. Capresi has zero interest in Nathan, doesn't know he's a cop, and in the circumstances probably couldn't even imagine it. 

"She is a bitch," Capresi agrees, "but is she also a liar, Crocker? Do you have my money?" His gun finds the line of Duke's jaw. Nathan remembers trailing his mouth along the same path.

"I have... money," Duke says, with care. " _My_ money. Which is _mine_. Look, who the fuck are you? How do you know Evi?"

"You can call me August, and we have old business together, your wife and I."

"You and half the east coast," Duke retorts. "How about specifically?"

"Specifically, the hundred grand she took from our last job." Capresi's mouth twists. He's on the run and desperate. Nathan figures it's something that's become worth calling in because now that every cop in the eastern states has his picture he needs the money to hide out or get out.

"Right. So Evi stiffed you. Like I said, you and half the east coast. What the fuck does this have to do with me, and my... business?" Duke's eyes slide to Nathan, full of slimy connotation that had better be feigned.

"She says the money went into the family pot." Duke gets Capresi's gun practically rammed up his nose, tries to retreat and bangs into the headboard. "I don't care about your relationship issues. I want it _back_ , Crocker, so you're going to pay off your wife's debts."

"Fuck off." The answer is unequivocal. Nathan thinks the hint of a smirk escapes onto his lips. Duke's a stubborn cur, particularly when it comes to the question of anyone taking money off him. Nathan remembers the days of their childhood, Duke as Simon Crocker the drunk's kid, never having squat. Capresi pistol whips Duke casually and he just looks more stubborn -- add Evi's involvement and the rude awakening after last night, and he's probably working up a level of pissed that makes Nathan hope he can get his gun back and end this before Duke gets a chance to end it his way. Which Nathan does not want to know about or even think about, because after last night, he'd much rather think of Duke as petty and benign, even if not an honest man.

"Take lover-boy away and find somewhere to lock him up," Capresi tells the third man. "Maybe Crocker will be more compliant when he's no-one to impress." He bends down and grabs some jeans from the floor, leaving Royston to cover Duke, and hurls them at Nathan's face. "Put some pants on."

They turn out to be Duke's jeans, and hang a bit loose on Nathan's hips. He's prodded barefoot out of the room. At the moment, he only knows the gun is poking into his back because of all the mirrors. It's going to be tricky judging this.

He manages to catch Duke's eye over his shoulder before the door's slammed shut, but he doesn't need any hidden signals or secret code. Duke knows just as well as he does what mistakes they're making.

***

Duke can't actually believe this, and he is going to _kill_ Evi. Seriously, it's not as if this counts as cheating on her, after all this time, and after the things they got up to when they were both together and committed, this is unbelievable. Sending armed assholes after him is an overreaction even for her. As to why she'd react this way over Nathan, of all people--

Maybe he emphasized the importance of this overmuch. Maybe she saw something in him that sparked a bout of unprecedented jealousy. Who the hell knows? What he does know is now he has to deal with this crap, and this is not what he needed -- or what Nathan needed, _fuck_ \-- to follow on from last night.

But he can see that Nathan slipped into his professional mode from the moment he woke with a gun in his face. He hasn't said a thing to the assholes since they pulled him out of bed. His silence and reserve is heartening, although if the bunch of idiots had the sense to think about it, ever so much unlike what they all seem to have taken him to be. The way Nathan watches from behind those cool blue eyes is... Duke really, really wants to say _dangerous_ , so go on, he'll say _dangerous_. 

From the moment Rounsey Fellowes takes Nathan out of the room, Fellowes is stuffed. He's a small-time crooked dock worker from a neighbouring port who's generally been smoking something that'll effect his judgement, which is presumably why he's working for a man like this August in the first place. One on one with Nathan, Duke doubts the gun will even matter much. Worry curls in his stomach anyway.

His face smarts. He wishes he could've told Nathan about the gun taped behind the bed frame over on that side, but there probably wasn't chance to go for it anyway. Not up against three. Two now, but the gun is too far away for Duke. He tries to start edging over that way, just in case.

But the moment they took Nathan out of the room was also the moment shit got serious. Duke can take a few punches and he's not giving these dicks any money if he can help it. The stash or two he has hidden on the _Cape Rouge_ will stand by in case things really turn nasty. Though what he'll do if they get the idea to try harming Nathan... On the one hand, it could be kind of funny, but on the other...

After showing his face a bit more of the standard abuse, Capresi snarls and chucks his jeans at him. It's been sort of hilarious how prissy these two are when it comes to beating up a naked dude, and apparently they can't take any more. But the jeans turn out to be Nathan's and won't pull on higher than mid-thigh, which is also hilarious, in Duke's new I'm-counting-down-moments-til-I-kill-you version of hilarity. August's other man, who he's called Roy at one point, pulls out drawers until he finds pants that belong to Duke.

"Fellowes should have been back by now," August says. It's really, really difficult not to react. Fellowes is a smear on the wall. They should've sent the other guy; an unknown quantity, but he might've had a chance. 

Roy shrugs. "Probably snuck on deck for a smoke." He grabs Duke's shoulder and wedges the gun against his spine as he straightens -- half-dressed albeit commando -- just in case pants give him the extra boost to take on the both of them, Duke supposes. There's a question in Roy's voice. Neither of them like this. "I should find something to tie Crocker up, then go find Fellowes, you think? Police in this town probably already got our faces--" _No shit_ , Duke thinks "--and Fellowes was saying the damnedest things about the police in this town..."

"Not to me," August snaps, eyes narrowing in demand.

Roy coughs up, "Like how weird shit happens here. _Really_ weird, _X-files_ kind of weird, and the police are in on it. You call 'em in and the weird... disappears. Maybe it's a government testing site or something. Cops are all agents, or aliens..."

August snorts, which the crazy theory would be deserving of if it wasn't halfway to being right.

"No, see, he said they've _seen_ it. Some guys he knows tangled with this one cop and they said it was like he was invulnerable, they'd try to land a punch and get _nothing_. Cops here aren't human."

Duke snorts, this time. "You guys are so _special_."

Roy boxes him around the ear. By the time he's stopped seeing stars, his hands are tied behind him with what was the one and only black tie he owned, but is now gonna be stretched out of shape because they've yanked it ferociously tight.

"Let's take this out of here." August waves his gun at the door, nose wrinkling. "This room smells of fag."

"Why, thank you," sneers Duke.

The kitchen area still has what's left of their meal from last night on the table. Gay cooties don't stop August from sampling it and pouring himself a glass of wine from the third remaining at the bottom of the bottle. "You made this?" He wafts a greasy finger at Duke. 

"I own a restaurant. Dumbass."

On a chair behind August where Nathan slung his jacket, there's also Nathan's belt with his gun and badge. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion. It's so obvious there, it's a wonder they didn't notice it walking in, and it's only a matter of time before they notice it now.

Where the hell is Nathan, anyway? It doesn't take this long to put down one weedy little guy on weed. Not like he doesn't know they're planning to use Duke as a punching bag until someone returns to do something about it. Perhaps Nathan decided to be pissed about last night or this morning and that's why he's holding off. Which would be so incredibly typical. Asshole. 

Meanwhile, August eats and struts and pokes into things, not yet noticing the one thing out in the open that blows this all to hell. He's opening cupboards, and Duke would tell him to get out of his shit, only he's hoping it keeps them distracted until Nathan charges in to save the day. 

It occurs to Duke that these guys finding out Nathan is a cop, let alone the current Chief, could be very bad for Nathan, given what else they know, and actually, how the hell are they going to _stop_ them from finding that out?

"You got more of this wine anywhere?" August prods.

"That wine? No." He backs off too quick, accidentally bumping Roy, as the gun in August's hand rises and he even hears a faint crunch from the mechanism, he's that close to dead. "Whoa! Yeah, there's wine. It's at my _restaurant_." Then again, even if it does hurt to see it, it's possible that dulling their reflexes wouldn't be the worst thing ever. "Might be a bottle or two in the bottom cupboard, there." He points his bare toes towards it.

"Maybe we've been barking up the wrong tree," August says, poking about again. "Forget the cash. Boat like this could keep us in more comfort than that little tub. Supplies on board here already, we could easy disappear a few weeks, wait till the heat dies down."

Duke chokes. They want to take his _boat_? It's war.

"What about these two?" Roy gestures vaguely at Duke. "What about Vernon and Ryan?" 

A scowl answers him. "I'll think of something. These two, they can go over the side once we're out to sea. Well... maybe keep the cook."

That's just unfriendly. In Roy's favour, though not much else has been so far, he looks almost as unhappy about that plan as Duke is. Then he freezes. "...Sorry, Cap... What's that on that chair by you? Looks like a piece."

Damn. The nasty turn of conversation kept it from being uppermost in Duke's head for thirty seconds, but it wasn't like he didn't know it was going to happen. August puts down the fresh wine bottle he found and picks up Nathan's gun only briefly -- before dropping it with a violent curse and grabbing for the badge with it. "Jesus Christ!" He hurls the badge at the table, dislodging a few remaining cream cheese puffs, and Roy nervously picks up the badge and studies it in turn. "I don't believe this! This is just... _brilliant_." August lunges for Duke, clamps both hands around his neck, and slams him against the wall. " _You_. You knew about this."

"Yeah. Of course, I was so _totally_ going to mention it to you, because we share _all_ our secrets," Duke quips, with some difficulty.

" _Holy shit_ ," is Roy's contribution, his voice becoming shrill. "This is the guy! It's _this_ guy--"

"Right," August snaps, "Crocker's _fucking skinny boyfriend_ is a _fucking cop_ , I know--"

"No, it's the guy!" Roy's got a severe case of jitters. "Wuornos! _Wuornos_ , the one Fellowes said his buddies got messed up by. The freakin' alien cop!"

"There are _no_ alien cops!" 

Duke could wish the flunky would stop winding August up, because he really needs to breathe. He manages to croak out something resembling the word 'air' and August loosens his grip. A little bit. 

"You're fucking a cop, Crocker?" Oh, so now the guy's _amused_. "How did that happen?"

"Oh, you know," Duke croaks. "Love, lust, funny things. Hell, I married Evi."

" _Shit_ , that guy was--" Roy's catching on. What delight. "You're fucking the _alien cop_?"

"Shut the fuck up, okay!" Duke snaps. "He's not an _alien_. You, on the other hand, have something seriously wrong--" He definitely will have, when Duke gets hold of the mouthy piece of shit. _Alien_ , indeed. It doesn't matter, in that moment, that he's said and thought worse about Nathan. That's _him_ , and it was meant, you know. Affectionately.

Anyway, Roy interrupts him with a frown and a sort of I-have-a-gun twitch, so he doesn't get to complete that thought.

Duke strains at the tie around his wrists. It doesn't do any good, and the scented oil he snatched from the nightstand isn't helping much. The binding is slick, but it's too damn tight to wrench either hand through.

"So wait, whether the guy we sent Fellowes off with is some kind of freak cop or just a cop, he's still a cop..." Roy's fight through this conversation towards intelligent comprehension is almost funny. "Isn't the more important question what in hell's happened to Fellowes?"

No, Duke thinks savagely, tired of these idiots. The important question is what's happened to _Nathan_.

***

Apparently the destination that's been chosen for Nathan to ride out the rest of this adventure is one of the equipment lockers up on deck. He doesn't rush to make his move; his captor is distracted and Nathan lets enough minor chances slip by to know they're a habit and what sort of moments they'll occur. The man isn't a hardened criminal like the other two. He's been smoking pot, which Nathan can smell on him, and he seems to be in pain. There are a few raised, red sores on his visible skin and he keeps scratching at them, and his gun dips whenever he does.

He scratches while he's waiting for Nathan to climb into the locker, getting steadily more nervous the whole time, not liking Nathan's reactions -- lack of them, perhaps -- or just plain not liking holding a man at gunpoint. The guy's even started a few of the sores bleeding. Nathan winces, and hopes it isn't catching.

And he moves, ducking easily away from the line of fire and lashing out at the too-low gun hand with a bare foot. The weapon goes skittering across the tops of some boxes and bounces into the sea. Damn... that could have gone better. No time to fret over it now. Capresi's man might be hopeless and almost helpless, but Nathan still intends to make sure he's down and going to stay down.

Something in his face stop Nathan's hand inches from landing a punch.

The man's eyes have gone very wide, his breathing laboured. It almost looks like a panic attack, but then at the same time, those spots of his have developed black dots in the centre of them, almost as if... as if something's growing _out_ \--

Nathan has time enough to think _Trouble_ and instinctively duck and start to roll clear before a web of sharp black spears punctures the air around them. Capresi's man yells, terror in his voice. Nathan doesn't yell, but he can't move any further, either. He's caught up on something, and whatever it is tugs and yanks him about as the Troubled crook tries to move.

The guy is howling a litany of curses interspersed with a good deal of " _What the fuck?!_ " and trying to bury his face in his hands, which is one reason he's giving Nathan so much grief, because a long, thin black spike jutting out of his left arm is stabbed through Nathan's right, below the elbow. Jesus, the guy has -- he has _spines_ , like a human porcupine. Two to three foot long _spines_. There's not, fortunately, too many of them. Maybe one every six inches or so across his body. Enough to stop anyone hoping to get near him, all the same. Nathan notices another one, from the guy's knee, stuck through his thigh.

"What the fuck?!" the howl repeats.

Nathan discovers he can't pull back off the spines, because something is catching and sticking, but there's a wrench on a box nearby he can just about strain to reach with his free hand. He lifts it up to his skewered arm and brings all the strength he can to bear on a sharp twisting motion he uses to snap the black spar off an inch or so clear of his flesh.

Capresi's man screams and thrashes, trying to pull clear and obviously wanting to run. Unfortunately, Nathan's still caught and loses his footing, getting dragged along. As they both fall, he picks up more scratches from thrashing spikes, but thankfully no more get embedded. He balances himself on fingertips, wrench and one foot, trying not to either get pushed further onto the spike in his thigh or tear out a chunk of his flesh that he can't feel but will surely regret someday.

"Calm _down_!" he shouts. Maybe a new tactic is called for.

"How the fuck should I calm down?" screeches the crook. "What's happened to me? How come you aren't even freaking out?!"

"You're not from Haven, are you?" Nathan demands. "Wait. _Stop moving_. Breathe. Answer the question."

"I...I'm from Hampton." Small town down the coast.

"But pretty close. Bet you've got family from these parts."

"What... how the fuck... Why'd you ask that?"

"They're called the Troubles."

The guy drops into silence. For a long moment it's just the sea and the gulls and both their strained breathing. Maybe he's heard of the Troubles, at least heard a few whispers.

"What's your family name?" Nathan asks. "Both sides."

"I ain't telling you that!"

"Fine. Go talk to all those other folks lining up to help you."

"...Shit! Fellowes and, uh, Cardeman, but my mum's family don't get along."

Right. There are Cardemans living up on a ramshackle farm off Crane Bluff. Dad always said never get into a brawl with any damn one of them. "Cardeman, then... You got this from your family on the Haven side. Plenty of people in these parts have these... afflictions. This the first time it's happened?"

Fellowes looks at him like he's grown an extra head. He takes that as _yes_.

"Look, I'm caught up and neither of us want that. How about you think about these things going away?" Fellowes maybe tries, but not overly hard and it's not working. Probably still too freaked out for that approach from anyone but Parker, whose calming effect seems supernatural in itself. "Shit." Nathan succeeds in bracing himself a bit better, acknowledges that he needs to be out of this ludicrous fix, and that however Troubled Fellowes is, even if he does need help, he's still an enemy. 

Nathan uses the wrench again and dives clear, trying not to whack either of the spikes still in him against anything. Fellowes _howls_ again and Nathan shouts back, "Sorry, alright, but -- problem solved."

Fellowes can't be blamed for not appreciating that much. Nathan backs off, managing to seize a quick exploratory study of his impaled arm. It's just pierced the fleshy part at the side of the elbow, he hopes, and it's thin enough there's maybe not too much damage. It's barely bleeding. The broken end and sharp point stick out either side. He's more worried about the deep wound in his thigh, which is harder to check. Fellowes trumps both as the major concern at the moment.

"You asshole," the crook complains. "You didn't have to do that."

"You skewered me. Fair's fair."

"Wasn't like on purpose!"

"Come _on_ ," Nathan snaps. "We're not friends, but you've got an obvious problem here. One I happen to know something about. You need me, so listen up. Lots of these Troubles, they're brought on by stress. Panic makes them worse, so work on calming down." He's still fairly close to the locker Fellowes was intent on putting him in. Inside it, there's a mop in a bucket, among other things. He edges closer. The mop handle is long enough to keep Fellowes back if he freaks out again. May not be the most elegant weapon, but better than being turned into a pincushion.

"Cap's gonna kill me," Fellowes whines.

"You've worse problems than him. Focus." How does Audrey do this again? Maybe she'd try shock the guy into getting a grip. "If you can't retract those things, you can't even walk normally down the street. You won't be able to get close to anyone, even if you want to." He knows about that one. "How are you going to live if you don't get a grip on this? Just --" Sit down, he was going to say, but doubts Fellowes can even do that "--breathe, easy there, and think calm thoughts." He gestures to the sun rising over the sea. "Think about getting a less stressful job," he adds, because he just can't resist, though it earns him a miserable nod. "And better steer clear of your buddies. They won't understand this."

Fellowes, he judges, isn't a danger -- at least not on purpose -- to anyone right now. He lets his hand fall back from the mop and instead backs off. Nathan is not exactly happy leaving the guy hanging around up here while he still has the others to deal with below, but can't see how to restrain him and thinks it's entirely possible Fellowes will be too busy dealing with his... issues... to cause any more problem for Duke and himself.

So he leaves Fellowes alone to his sorry state and circles to the other side of the deck. Turns over pieces of Duke's deck furniture in what ends up being a futile search for the weapons the crooked bastard keeps secreted about for these kinds of situations and thinks sourly that it says something about a guy, that he plans for these kinds of situations. Possibly Duke moved his crap because he knew Nathan was coming aboard. He wonders if it's worth hopping across to Capresi's boat to search.

Boats are noisy places; wave action, goods shifting on deck, the creak and groan of the vessel. He's still aware, beyond that, of Fellowes sniffling and moving around. But it doesn't seem much excuse for Nathan to be obliviously holding a chair upside-down in both hands when Hugh Royston's strained voice says from behind him, "Put it down and turn around."

He's not keen to add another bullet wound to his recent damage tally, so turns, raising his hands carefully. Royston's eyes widen at the spike in his arm. "What the hell is--? Hey, how are you free? What did you do to Fellowes?"

"Nothing. The man's got problems of his own." Nathan jerks his head towards where he can still hear the swearing and scuffling. "Wouldn't get too close, if I were you."

With the weapon still covering Nathan, Royston backs off until he can crane his head to get a view of his afflicted cohort. His eyes bug and a trail of sweat slides down from his forehead. "Jesus! What the fuck is going on? How'd you do that to him?" The muscles in his hands bunch and he's on the verge of pulling the trigger.

"How did _I_ \--?" Nathan swallows the words and sighs. In so many ways, this morning is turning into the _perfect_ follow-up to last night.

***

"God damn fucking-- get down there!" Roy's panicked voice and stamping steps precede him. "Fucking freak fag cop." Duke's hopes sink; a moment later, Nathan limps in, hands on the back of his neck, followed by the freaking-out crook. "Cap, man, something weird happened to Fellowes. His -- he's still up there yelling about it. He's turned into -- man, I _told_ you, this mutant alien _shit_ \--" He jabs Nathan in the back with the gun. Nathan's shoulder moves fractionally, but he doesn't notice.

"Nate!" Duke blurts.

The blue eyes are more arctic than usual. Something's happened. No shit. Duke looks for the source of the limp, spies blood on Nathan's jeans... his own damn jeans. What the hell is that thing stuck through Nathan's arm? Once he's seen that, he picks out the other more easily, thin enough he couldn't see it at first. 

"Fellowes is Troubled," Nathan says.

"He'll be more than troubled when I get hold of him," August explodes. "You! Fucking cop! On your knees."

Things twist in Duke's gut, but Nathan keeps immovably calm as he slowly drops, hands still behind his head. "So you know. Should also know there are a couple of wiser decisions you can make here." August sidles behind him and jams the end of the gun in his ear. Perplexity crosses August's face as that fails to get any reaction, and he grinds the gun, harshly. It has the effect of shoving Nathan's head sideways and making him look ticked off. In the interest of continued experiment, August kicks him in the back, and screws up his face like he's caught a bad smell and squints from Nathan to Duke. "You're kidding, right? That must be a truckload of fun in bed. So I suppose, what, you two like it rough?"

That gets a reaction from Nathan, whose bland mask falls away as he blinks in confusion. 

Duke yanks at his wrists again and has to deal with the fact he can't rip the guy limb from limb for that comment, which is so far from the truth of last night. He snarls, "You don't know anything." Nathan who was silly and gentle and, okay, the odd bit of clumsy, but that's not his fault. 

"It's all right, Duke," Nate says, trying to bring _him_ back down and level. Duke laughs because he wants to fucking cry. All of this shit, _right after_ \--

"You let me down, man," he pants through the anger and pain, taking refuge in banter to find a better headspace, if he can. "I thought you'd be John McLean-ing your way through these assholes in no time."

"Sorry. Didn't expect the porcupine-man." 

"Porcupine-man? _Seriously_?"

Nathan shrugs, tips his eyes toward the guns on them. "Seem to remember last time I was out on your boat, things went kind of like this."

Duke chokes. "If it helps at all, I think last time was meant to end sort of like this began."

"You two quit that," August gripes. "Making me nauseous... Aw, _shit_ , I gotta ask, do you really--"

"Damn it, Cap, forget _them_ ," Roy blurts, stressed enough to raise his voice to August. "I told you, something's happened to Fellowes. I never saw anything _like_ it."

"Right. Aliens and mutants." August is scathing and pissed, clearly approaching the end of his limited patience. "How about you leave the Twilight Zone and get back into _this reality_ , Roy? This shit--" He kicks Nathan again, who just rolls his eyes. "--It's _medical_ , you moron. Happens in the real world. Some kinda nerve disorder. Like the guy in that _Dragon Tattoo_ movie? No pain. _No_ aliens. Mutants, either. Get it?"

Duke wonders how comprehensively Nathan is going to kill _him_ for getting subjected to this. Groans inwardly and achieves something with his hands -- which have been numb for a while, and maybe that's helping -- that finally gains him an ounce of give. The crashing from above deck gets louder, and there's a bang and a draught that tells him someone just opened the hatch. He frowns and automatically looks up. There's a sort of scraping sound, interspersed with pained panting, from the top of the steep wooden steps. "Guys?" a thready voice whines.

Nathan curses under his breath.

"Watch them," August orders. "I'll deal with Fellowes."

As August moves away, Nathan's head snaps around to the remaining man. "Royston." His voice is very low and urgent. "He'll kill him. You have to let me stop him." Why he thinks he can reason with a dude who's about as paranoid by now as an entire UFO convention, Duke doesn't know. 

Nathan tries to rise, but Roy's way too shaky and trigger-happy. His head keeps turning after August and the commotion at the hatch, and he's not happy about that either, but he's shit-scared of Nathan. In other circumstances it would be hilarious how these guys seem to regard Nathan as the Terminator.

Duke can see in every line of Nathan's body that he's going to move, and he'll get himself shot trying to save some Troubled petty crook that he feels sorry for. Duke yanks at his hands fiercely, and he thought they'd gone numb a moment ago, but _damn_ it's a struggle to keep it quiet when he finally frees them at no small cost in pain. August's choked-off cry and curse helps muffle whatever noise escapes him, but that's the shitstorm everything's waiting for. 

Nathan swings upward, aiming the point of the spike embedded through his arm at the shoulder of Roy's gun arm. Duke's left hand is ablaze with agony but he's just about fast enough to get there and drag Roy's gun down. The resulting shot is close enough he feels the air disturbance pass by his foot as it fires. His hand screams at the movement. Fuck. _Fuck_. Next time, he's leaving such stunts to the guy who can't feel them. Nathan twists the spike in Roy's shoulder, making him howl even louder than Duke. The gun hits the floor and bounces somewhere under the furniture. Nathan drags Roy over to the kitchen counter, where August chucked the belt with his service pistol. He grabs his cuffs and fixes them on Roy, awkwardly. "Duke--?" He lifts his eyes, full off urgent supplication, offering out his service pistol with his free hand. 

Oh, _hell_ , no.

Duke is busy holding his left hand together, or that's what it feels like. He has a vague idea that things need forcing back into place, and he incredibly doesn't want to do it. The last thing he needs now is to be performing heroics in the name of stopping crooks from killing each other, crooks who can go to hell for all he cares, since they hauled him out of bed with Nathan on his own damn boat. 

"I'm stuck." It's imploring and ridiculous. Nathan's stood there fixed to Roy's shoulder by his elbow. 

Fucking unbelievable. Nathan's service pistol, that inclination of his head toward the steps... August is swearing a streak and Fellowes is audibly whining, so nothing irretrievable has happened yet. Duke doesn't want to move, but because it's Nathan asking, somehow it's automatic that he unclench his right hand and take the weapon.

God fucking _damn it_. Haven P.D.'s favourite auxiliary. _Again_.

Behind him, he's partially aware of Nathan saying, " _Move_ ," to the unlucky Roy, whose noises of pain increase sharply. 

Approaching the steps, where August has his feet on the bottom few rungs, Duke is promptly floored by _holy shit!_ and the sight of the guy with spines sticking out of his body trying to push his way down through the hatch. It looks more surreal than monstrous, in part because of the obvious losing battle he's fighting to get through the far too narrow space.

Surprise seems to be the reason August hasn't shot him yet. Maybe a touch of morbid fascination as to whether he'll actually manage to get down. It's crazy, and there's no wonder Nathan returned looking so bland.

Duke forces his attention onto where it's supposed to be, aligning the gun in his hand with the guy's centre of mass, and speaks a warning, "August."

August barely looks at him, frozen in an upwards gawp, and the fact he hasn't reacted -- not to the commotion back there, not to Duke's appearance, or even the gunshot -- is a bit fucked up, but without the advantage, if such it can be called, of growing up in Haven, Duke's not sure how he'd be processing this right now himself.

There is chance, briefly, to consider how this plays out if he shoots this guy to stop him killing Rounsey Fellowes. He supposes Nathan would claim to firing the shot, and it's his gun after all. But in the end, it's neither here nor there. Duke has the advantage of seeing it start, while August's reactions are still sluggish-to-nonexistent from, well, exposure to _Haven_ , and he's already on the steps. Really it's not surprising, the way Fellowes is shoving and carrying on, that if he's going to get down in any fashion at all it'll be the hard way. Duke watches him start to lose his balance, and doesn't stay around for the rest.

He bumps straight into Nathan, with Roy's gun in his hand and still dragging the howling Roy; catches his shoulder, turns him around, and hustles them both the other way. It's almost a running tackle. "Coming through!"

Behind them, the rolling thuds and squawks from Fellowes belong in a slapstick comedy. The noise August makes and the wet slap of the final, heavier, dual impact... less so.

Nathan cranks a wondering peek over his shoulder, a firm hold of Roy by the scruff of his neck. "I cannot believe that just really happened."

"Yeah? Well, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy," says Duke.

***

Fellowes is unconscious, having somehow managed to bash his head on the way down. Capresi is dead, with holes in six or seven places, the most significant being a bullseye through his right eye socket. It creates a sight Nathan won't forget in a hurry, before the spikes thankfully dissolve in response to Fellowes' unconscious state.

"Of all the ignominious ends I have ever wished upon people, being _landed on by a guy covered in spikes_... well, it's a classic. Who can argue with that?" continues Duke, who seems under the impression that if he belabours the point for long enough this will become funny. He grins encouragingly at Nathan, seeking a positive response. "...Who was this, anyway? Since you seem to know."

"August Capresi," Nathan fills in. "Yesterday morning's bulletin. He's killed five people that we know of, so I doubt many will mourn him."

"Oh, right. Good, then." Sounding like he could care less, Duke turns his back abruptly and there's a sick noise as he uses the edge of the kitchen counter to pull a broken or dislocated finger back into line. Duke swings around again with a coat of sweat on his face and his eyes disturbingly bright. "Better," he gulps. Nathan's not one to comment, so just gives an acknowledging nod. 

He goes and handcuffs Royston to the toilet -- literally, both arms around the bowl -- which may be cruel and unusual but he's not in the mood to care and it will be easier to sort this out without having to keep an eye on their remaining scumbag. Nathan's very relieved to no longer be attached to the guy. 

It does mean he's bleeding now. So when he's dealt with Royston he casts no more than a cursory glance to determine the other two are still dead and still unconscious, then returns to the kitchen, where Duke's already produced a first aid kit.

Nathan's elbow drips freely on the floor, but he can see the wound and it doesn't worry him overmuch. The other... he looks at Duke and decides that after last night, it's pointless to make this a problem. He unfastens his loose jeans and drags them below his hip. It's a deep puncture in a tricky spot, and bleeding more than he likes. There's no escaping a visit to the hospital at the end of this. For the moment, Duke helps him patch up and it's... not awkward, though some of that may be the fact neither of them are really talking. When Duke finishes, he comes back up Nathan's body slowly, hands sliding over skin he can't feel -- checking for hidden injuries, Nathan realises, on the verge of a complaint -- but when their faces are finally level again he brings them together for a kiss.

The kiss is full of the dubious tastes of early morning and Duke's blood. Nathan sighs into Duke's mouth and wants to go back. Re-do waking up next to him, and see how that goes. But that chance has been lost. He brushes his hand over the back of Duke's neck, hoping it provides reassurance but numb to the hair and sweat and tense muscle he can only imagine beneath his fingers. A little of his drive from yesterday still remains, but it's fading, and he's _forgetting_ \-- that brief experience of sensation, after so many years without, he can't keep it with him, even if he tries, and there are too many other things that desperately need doing right now to even try. 

"I hate that something like this always happens," Duke says, drawing back. "I hate myself _saying that_."

Nathan still has Duke's jeans sagging around his knees. He steps out of them entirely and goes to find his own in the bedroom. Last night seems a million years away. It's also light outside and they're probably a hazard to shipping. All this and it's still not even time for breakfast. He returns fully dressed down to shoes and socks, except one sock he couldn't find, saying, "Need to move the boat. Get these three back to the station. Morgue. Whichever fits."

Duke doesn't answer; he's gone quiet again, and that isn't a good sign, because usually his mouth not moving is a signal of a lot of thinking happening. Nathan leaves him to it for now, takes back his service weapon, replaces belt and badge, removes Fellowes from his deadly embrace of Capresi and chucks a sheet over the dead man. He'd really like to restrain Fellowes somehow, but it doesn't seem a workable idea. Best hope is he stays unconscious until they can stick him in a cell with Parker on the other side of the bars. Maybe the Cardemans will be able to offer some helpful input, and Nathan plans paying a visit up there. He wonders if the station's weapons locker has any _spears_. You'd think they would have more non-standard arms on hand. Maybe that's something he needs to look into as the new police chief.

He climbs the steps, and outside takes himself on over to Capresi's smaller vessel. First ensures there's no-one else aboard, then fixes it up so they can tow it back into harbour. He engages in a hollered exchange or three with passing fishing boats. Definitely time they weren't here.

Heading back below decks of the _Cape Rouge_ , he finds his jacket and phone, which he waves at Duke, who's sort of dressed now but still grim-faced and locked in thought, pacing the galley. "I have to call this in." Parker first and the rest later, though Parker won't appreciate the early awakening with no gift of coffee to compensate.

"Evi," Duke says, looking up. In that one word, there's exasperation and heavy reluctance but something else that's new -- fear. Nathan stares at him, waiting for the rest. "This -- she wouldn't do this for no reason. This was a message." Duke scrubs his hands over his face.

"What's the message?"

"' _Help me_ '." Then, Duke's diving for the steps. Nathan follows with the phone already at his ear. It takes a dozen rings to get Parker and she sounds as charmed as he'd expect by the wake-up. "I need you over here at Duke's boat. Nobody else, just you." He trusts her to take the urgency from his voice and hangs up on the rest of her questions. Yes, he will be paying for this later. "Duke! _Duke_ , damn it--" Duke is charging for the wheelhouse to take them back to harbour, and that's what Nathan wanted, but not like this. "Duke, slow down."

"They've got her, Nate." This isn't the sort of panic that comes from indifference and burned-out love. "Think about it. She sent them to the _Cape Rouge_ , to _me_ , with a fucking armoury and a police chief aboard, and I've been too pissed at her to even _get it_."

Nathan picks one thing up clearer than the rest. "You told your _wife_ about--?" The plea in Duke's eyes stalls his scandalised anger. He thinks instead and says, "One of Capresi's gang isn't here."

Duke nods, set to resume his charging about. Nathan grimaces. Duke needs him, and apparently this isn't even at the police and coroner and questions stage of not-over-yet. He says, "I'll get an answer out of Royston. Parker's coming." He jerks his chin at the shore. What the hell are they going to tell Parker, anyway? At least with the change of jeans and his jacket back on she won't know he's injured, and that'll make a few things easier in the short term.

Royston's hugging the toilet and rattling off paranoid theories that make him sound crazier than a sack of cats, which will hopefully make him harder to believe when he's claiming Haven's Chief of Police is sleeping with small-time smuggler and restaurateur Duke Crocker. Their hold over Fellowes probably solves the other half of that problem. 

Royston is disturbingly terrified of Nathan, who barely has to issue any threats. Royston spills everything, including the location of the harbourside building where they left Vernon Parth and Evi Crocker, and Nathan returns to Duke with the news as they're coming in to dock. He has to grab Duke to keep him from haring off the moment they're secure.

" _Wait_ for Parker." They can't leave this like _this_ , and he's not letting Duke go alone.

Parker shows up all bed hair and dishevelled curiosity, and Nathan barely has time to bark out the basics to her before Duke drags him away-- "Capresi's men on board. One dead, one unconscious, one locked in the head. The unconscious one's Troubled, keep your distance -- _damn it_ , Duke! -- Shit, Parker, you can kill me later. Evi Crocker's in danger. I need to get this." With that, they leave the whole lot in her lap. Duke only thinks he's kidding that Parker will kill him later.

Ten seconds out of sight, he does think of pulling out his cellphone and resuming the conversation while racing on Duke's heels, answering a few of the other relevant questions any sensible cop would think to ask when faced with the gift of a dead body, a raving nut job and a human teasel.

***

There had been times Duke thought Nathan's closed-off reserve and narrow field of vision, particularly when it came to police duties, something he could never appreciate. In the circumstances, hell, he had to admit that asking the guy you screwed last night to help save your _wife_ was... rude, and most wouldn't be taking it so well. At least, Nathan seems to be taking it well in the heat of the moment. Fallout later -- Evi first.

Roy's interrogation pointed Nathan to a wooden shed that serves as a fishing store. A look of neglect and disuse that little of Haven's small, bustling harbour has suggests it probably only a matter of time before the harbour authorities start making pointed enquiries of its listed owner. Duke guesses that'll be less time now it's become the den of a gang of murderous, kidnapping, thieving scum.

Nathan leads the way in under the peeling remnant of a blue and yellow sign reading _Haven Fisheries_ , aggravatedly casting back warning glances because he wants Duke to be holding further back, and would prefer, Duke definitely gets the feeling, if he were waiting outside. Tough. Evi's his _wife_ , and Nathan was handing him the gun earlier. The man can't have it both ways, so he'll just have to suck it up. If Nathan hadn't looked ready to shoot him, Duke would be in there first.

If they've hurt Evi... well, he can't resurrect August Capresi to kill him again, and can't really fault the _spectacular_ way he managed to get himself killed. But he might have to go through Nathan for a shot at the other three.

Another warning look, and this one says _calm down_ in the bargain so he looks down and adjusts his hold on Roy's gun to something more normal. Nathan's subsequent tip of the head is almost as eloquent and it says, _get ready_. A second later it says, _now_.

Duke doubts anyone with that large a hole in his leg should be kicking doors in with such gusto.

He's almost first through the gap anyway, but the sucker August left doesn't stand a chance. Evi -- God, _Evi_. She's tied to a chair in the centre of the cold, damp shed, wearing just a tank top and jeans. The white top is splashed with red, and there's more blood on her face. "Evi!"

"Duke," she slurs, accusingly, as he rushes to her side and drops to his knees to tear at the knots on her wrists. "You're so fucking _late_."

"You should be grateful I came at all." His tongue's almost on autopilot. Fucking Roy, he thinks, recognising the freakish tight knots, regretting every chance he had to kick the asshole that he didn't take. He armed himself up when he left the _Cape Rouge_ , so solves the problem with his knife. "Really. Your friends are _not_ welcome at my orgies any more."

Nathan shoots over a quelling look. He's subdued the other guy, Parth, and it didn't take any great energy or trained cop antics to do it, since the dude was half asleep in his chair when they burst in. Strewn around are a few sleeping bags, empty bottles, full bottles -- at least one of which Duke suspects is filled with pee -- and it's no mystery how the big bad city crooks have been spending their time in Haven.

It's embarrassing having Nathan right there while Duke suddenly has his arms full of Evi. She clings to him like he's an anchor, but then she's had a rough night. "I knew I could rely on you."

His shirt is already a lost cause but he's not thinking about that -- really -- as he uses his sleeve to gently wipe the blood from her face. His gaze finds Nathan over her shoulder, flickers back to her face. "Yeah? I should've remembered there are always certain things I can rely on you for, as well." Because damn it, getting beat up does not equate automatic forgiveness. Himself. Nathan. Hauled out of bed together by thugs. Bed, _together. Thugs._

She pulls back a fraction to follow his gaze, staying perched on the edge of the chair. It's obvious she doesn't yet want to risk standing up. Duke massages her hands between both of his, ignoring the pain in his left. They're freezing cold and he remembers how numb his were after half an hour of Roy's bondage special. "...Sorry," she says to Nathan, with a wince. "Thanks for... coming through, Mr Police Chief."

Fine, so _him_ she apologises to. Duke squashes her hands, crossly. "What the hell were you doing, Evi? Mixing with people like that?"

"Auggie? Met him when he was nineteen. He used to be cute. Now every time he shows up I can't get away from the asshole fast enough." She groans, wresting a hand free to feel her face, poke exploratively at her split lip.

"Well, your problems with that one are over," Duke says. She returns him an expression that's comprehending but doesn't give much reaction to the news 'Auggie' is dead. Maybe it's Nathan's presence. Or maybe that relationship was more complicated than he's had chance to think about. _Jesus_. "Evi. Shit, why do you _do_ this to yourself?" He grips her hand and leans forward till his forehead rests on her knees, and he can't... This goes back and _back_ and they've done this so many times. 

"Hey." She slaps his face. It doesn't have any force, but anyone's guess if that's deliberate. "Don't make your policeman jealous. We're not together, remember."

" _Duke_ ," Nathan says sharply. Duke looks up with a jolt. He's... honestly too tired and too wrung out by this point to worry what Nathan thinks of this anymore. Nathan, who was open and real with him last night as he might never have been with anyone... certainly not while weighed down by his affliction. And this morning Duke... screwed him, he supposes. Screwed him as predicted, even. Although Nathan is managing to look remarkably sympathetic at the moment for a guy simultaneously engaged in grinding a gun into someone's earlobe.

"Take your wife home," Wuornos says, voice all gravel and sea spray. "I've got this."

"Nate..."

"Last night... Thanks." It's one word Duke definitely didn't want to hear, though he doesn't realise until he hears it. _Thanks_ says it was a favour. _Thanks_ says it's over. "We both know it's not going to work like this, not really. Not until I can feel again. But thanks for trying."

"Doesn't mean you can't... try again... every so often," Duke manages. God, they can't _have_ this conversation now, but if they don't, they won't have it later. He knows, abruptly, how Nathan felt yesterday.

But he has Evi, bleeding and half-broken -- or at least not quite herself -- in his arms, and he really needs to take care of this. They'll have _some_ conversation later. That much, he promises himself.

"Okay. Okay, Nate... but this isn't over."

Nathan's eyes are dark, unreadable holes in his face as he watches them leave, and Duke feels them burning his back long after they're out of sight and heading to Evi's hotel, with no clue from all of that about what Nathan was thinking... or, dare he say, _feeling_... at all.

***

So Duke handily escapes the questions, and the aftermath, or at least postpones them indefinitely. It occurs to Nathan he should have asked which hotel Evi is staying in, but it won't be too hard to pick up later, since her face tends to stand out against the overly white background of Haven.

He updates Parker by phone, swings around to the station to hand over Parth for the unlucky Stan to book in before morning coffee -- can't find any sympathy for that one, sorry, Stan -- and returns to the _Cape Rouge_ with a heaviness inside him he's sure the next few hours will do nothing to shift. 

The interior of Duke's living space is occupied by a flock of folks including Parker, EMTs, the stand-in coroner and two uniformed officers who'd be about ready to come off-shift, if he had any sympathy for them, either. It's unrecognisable. Instead of Duke's crazy ideas for entertaining a nerveless man, there's a half-empty bottle of rum and a few cans scattered near the TV. Parker catches his eye and he eyes her back, unsure what shows on his face, unsure he wants to face the conversation that's brewing between them. 

As it happens, he's left to stew for hours before it's finally just the two of them alone in the Chief's office, and by that time, even if he can't feel the discomfort, he knows his stomach's been turning itself over so bad it'll be a relief to get it out of the way. Parker has armed herself with what he believes can only be very loosely referred to as 'coffee' after so many sweetening additions, and plants in front of him a tower of steaming, industrial-strength black. She goes back to shut the door. The instant it's clicked to, she begins the interrogation.

" _Speak_. I saw the state of Duke's boat. I _tidied_ Duke's boat. You said you were going to be with Duke last night." A sort of helpless confusion infringes on her forceful forthrightness. "To me, it looked more like he'd had a woman there, but he didn't, did he? There was... no baseball."

It's non-judgemental -- if anything, kind and carefully neutral. All the same, everything about her lets him know he can rule out evasion as an option.

"Well," Nathan hazards in an oh-so-deliberately muffled voice, which he muffles further with his coffee cup as soon as the words escape, "there may have been some pitching and catching involved." He suspects his face goes red as a beet.

Parker's jaw drops, probably as much from the fact he just _said that_ as the confirmation of her suspicions.

"Oh my God, you -- you slept with Duke." The words drag out of her slowly. "You and Duke. Slept. Together." She stops, visibly re-checking that thought, doubting herself, doubting him, even though it must be all over his face. What is that look? Half disappointed, maybe, in his better hopes. The other half... as if she's stumbled across an unexpected treasure. " _That_ \--" she dives forward to pull his arm down, so the base of the coffee cup he's been thoughtlessly gulping from bangs on the desk and spills a little "--is _red hot_." She looks down as he moves away from her touch. Just because... it's not a good time right now. He hopes she understands that. But her confusion is only more intense. "So did you--"

"No, I didn't feel it," he says, and thinks the ghost of a smile escapes onto his face. _Duke_. Only Duke. Crazy asshole. "But I _saw_ it, and _heard_ it, and smelled and tasted it, and... experienced it. I guess sometimes you just have to make things happen anyway?" He offers her his tentative conclusion.

"...This is either an epic Trouble or a sign of the apocalypse."

"It's not," Nathan protests, though he knows she's mostly being funny.

"...All right. So what now?"

"What?" He really has no clue what that is in her voice. "What now nothing. Evi. The Troubles. Being Chief." _You_.

"Oh my God," she says again. "You, Nathan Wuornos, deliberately had a one-night-stand with Duke Crocker. I think my head is going to explode. I'm beginning to doubt I even know you at all."

He hates both her words and his own, because they make it sound casual, and it wasn't. But then, he thinks she knows that, beneath the freaking out. Because she _does_ know him, and it doesn't matter that he can't feel, he wouldn't do something like that with his body without it meaning _everything_. 

As she turns around scrubbing her fingers through her blonde hair, he grabs up and gulps again from his too-hot coffee. Damn it, if his mouth gets burned, it's burned already. He needs it.

"Hey." She stops flailing and spins back to him, one finger raised demandingly. "Just who did--"

"You are _not_ going to ask what I think you're going to ask. And no-one is _ever_ going to tell you," he rushes to cut in, and with the horrible realisation that if asked, Duke _will_ tell, swiftly adds the harder reminder, "Parker? This is one of those times when people with filters between brain and mouth _stop talking_."

"Hah," she says, and spins a bit and pulls at her hair some more. "Oh my God. Oh my _God_. If only to have been a fly on that wall," she quips cheekily at him, and grins. They've been candid about sex before, but this conversation is too much for Nathan to take. He sinks down bonelessly in his chair.

Parker isn't usually so free with touching him, but she leans over and puts a kiss on his forehead that'll probably keep burning there for a month. 

"I'm glad you got something out of it." That hangs a long time, before she adds, killing the silence. "I'd better go find Duke. Straighten things up over the _Cape Rouge_. Check on Evi. Check on... Duke."

"Yes." Duke has Evi, but Nathan isn't happy with the way things broke up, and it's probably best if Parker is the one to field this, right now.

Her phone chimes to announce a text message and she plucks it out. Upside-down, Nathan's not able to get much other than the sender: speak of the devil, as the proverb goes. When Parker looks up again, her expression is dangerous.

"Okay, Nathan, _spikes_? Really? " She's grabbing her jacket from the chair, barging past him to grab his jacket and car keys and shove them at him. "And you were going to mention this to me _when_?"

He realises Duke sold him out -- of course he did, because if there's one thing Duke Crocker can be trusted to do, it's that. 

Parker is never going to believe the hospital visit was forgotten honestly. Even if Nathan dodged the bullet on having sex with Duke and dumping the morning-after cleanup and a boatload of dead or traumatised crooks on her... for _this one_ , there is most certainly going to be Hell to pay.

 

END


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